


little consequence

by vipertooths



Series: 1917 [3]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipertooths/pseuds/vipertooths
Summary: Blakefield Kisstober 2020: Day 29, Pumpkin Carving KissesTom suggests a pumpkin carving contest, but no one loses.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: 1917 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678021
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30
Collections: Blakefield Kisstober 2020





	little consequence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dianawritesfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianawritesfic/gifts).



> Thank you to my lovely wife @dianawritesfics for helping me come up with this idea!  
> And thank you to all my beautiful readers. <3

Tom hefts his pumpkin onto the table beside the carving tools and looks over at Will, who is already elbows deep through the top of his own. "So, what are the parameters?"

Scraper abandoned, Will rips a fistful of pulpy guts out of the soon to be jack-o-lantern with his bare hand, muscles tensing in his arm as he does so. Tom tries very hard not to stare. "You're the one who wanted to make this a competition," he says. "You tell me."

"Okay, well the seeds'll take about forty minutes to cook, so how about that?" Taking the small saw, Tom jams it into the crown of his pumpkin, being met with no small resistance. "No tracing. We'll score them on creativity, spookiness, and skill. What should the prize be?"

"Winner's choice."

" _My choice,_ you mean?" He puckers his lips dramatically and makes a few kissing sounds. "What if I want a kiss?"

It's a joke. Of _course_ it's a joke, because he's not so much of a masochist as to ever propose that seriously. He already feels some an ache in his heart imagining the day Will finally finds someone to settle down with, there's no reason to break his own heart with a premature rejection.

Only, the thing is, when Will looks up at him—pensive and somber ad ever—and says, "Winner's choice," it doesn't feel like a joke anymore. Their gaze holds for a long second after the pucker slips from Tom's lips and he knows he must look like a deer caught in the lights. Wind blows in through the open kitchen window, carrying the musky scent of fallen leaves and rain, and he can't tell if the goosebumps on his arms are from the chill or something else entirely.

Forcing a laugh, he breaks the stare-off and goes back to sawing, holding an air of nonchalance around him like an armor. "Better not be chapped," he quips, earning one of Will's laughs in return. The tension albeit probably all in Tom's head, eases.

After the guts are all out and the seeds washed and dried, they spread them onto a baking sheet and slip them into the oven. Will sets the timer as Tom sidles around to the opposite side of the table.

"No peeking," he says.

"As if I'll need ideas from the losing party," Will answers smoothly, and Tom waves the scraper at his smug face in mock-menace.

"Big words from someone with a ketchup stain on their jumper." Tom snickers as Will's eyes flash down to inspect the nonexistent mark. "Made ya look."

With a long aggrieved sigh, Will picks up a cutter. "Very funny."

"I thought so."

Judging by the curl of Will's lips, he must think so too.

They lapse into relative silence while they carve, barring the 'mood music' that Tom insists on putting on ten minutes into the contest. He assures Will that listening to Halloween classics will increase their pumpkin carving abilities. It's a little less believable when he attempts to twirl the chisel he's holding and ends up dropping it on the floor. He retrieves it with pink cheeks and sets about carving the mouth on his slightly deformed pumpkin.

When he looks up again, Will is focused on his own work, lips pinched and a small crease between his brows. Tom wants to place a kiss on both. _Winner's choice._

Tom swallows hard and tries to ignore the way his palms are clamming up at the possibility of kissing Will. What if he messes it up? What if he's a terrible kisser? What if Will was just making a really dry joke before and Tom was overthinking the whole thing? They were close, sure, but that close? Close enough to share a silly, innocent kiss as a gag reward? Tom thinks he'd probably kiss any of his friends as a joke, but Will isn't Tom.

The sweat slicks his fingers enough that the chisel slips, putting a gouge into the teeth. He swears, drawing Will's attention.

"All right over there?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" _That doesn't sound suspicious at all,_ he thinks, chastising himself silently.

Will looks mildly concerned, but lets it go. "Just be careful. Don't hurt yourself."

With an affirmative hum, Tom keeps carving as he reaches his other arm out to feel around for the smaller chisel. His fingers grab Will's, just for a moment, but the surprise is enough to make him jerk back. He smacks his hand into his pumpkin, giving it an ugly slice as the chisel in his right hand slides across the face.

"I don't have cooties, you know."

"You just startled me is all."

With clear purpose, Will grabs the tool he'd been reaching for and pulls back slowly, holding eye contact. Tom huffs at the theatrics and refocuses on his …. goblin? Monster? From his peripheral, he can see Will looking at him every few minutes, probably wondering what's wrong with him and why he can't seem to carve in a straight line right now.

Without his permission, the timer begins to beep, signaling the end of the contest, and he leans forward to rest his head against his pumpkin in defeat. It's not his best work by far. 

As Will takes the seeds from the oven, Tom has a moment to wonder if he even would have had the courage to ask for a kiss anyway. Probably not. It's a relief as much as it's a disappointment.

He lifts his head and sullenly drags his pumpkin back to the other side of the table. It's a piss poor attempt at a creature face and he's not even sure what creature it is. Will's, on the other hand, is a collection of variously sized eyes, all littered around the largest one in the center. Simple, but effective, and will look even better in the dark.

"Do we have to rate them?" he asks. "I think it's pretty clear who won."

"I suppose not. I like your concept."

Tom smiles at his friend's inexhaustible courteousness. "Thanks. Doesn't really make me feel better about all the shite I talked about winning, but thanks. What did you want as your prize, anyway?"

"A kiss."

His heart gives a traitorous _ba-bump_ even as he laughs off the answer. "Ha ha. We're talking about _your prize_ , not mine."

"I know. That's my request."

The world goes fuzzy around the edges trying to make sense of a reality where William Schofield wants to kiss Thomas Blake. "Uh."

It's not the most eloquent of responses, and Will must take it the wrong way. "Not if you don't want to. I thought—" He shakes his head. "I read the situation wrong."

"No!" Tom makes them both jump with his outburst and quiets his voice. "I mean, you didn't. Read it wrong. I want to." 

There's a moment of charged silence and Will has this look on his face that's a little like want and a little like wonder. He reaches out and cups Tom's jaw, pulling him into the kiss. It feels like flying, or maybe floating, like Will is the only thing keeping him on the ground. They taste like the coffee they'd gotten earlier, bittersweet and earthy, and all of Tom's nerve endings are alight in each place Will is touching—the thumb stroking his cheek, the hand that's not gripping his waist, every inch of his mouth as he opens it to let Will in.

Maybe it's just because Tom had been stupidly in love with this man for ages now, but he's sure it's the best kiss of his life so far. And, yeah, he's not had many to compare it to, but that's beside the point.

When they break apart, his eyes flutter open and he takes a second to wonder when he'd closed them. He blinks a few times, unsure what you're supposed to say to your best friend slash love if your life in this situation. "No refunds." _Smooth_.

Will laughs, pulling him closer until their lips are brushing again. "Oh, is this one of those lifetime guarantee things?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe how many kisses you can get out of it."

"I guess we'll have to see about that."

"I guess we will." He tilts his head up, sealing the kiss once more.


End file.
